The Struggles of a Reluctant Guardian Angel
by MirrorShard
Summary: To earn his Father's forgiveness, Lucifer ends up as the unwilling, often violent, and consistently Extra guardian angel the Winchesters absolutely do not want, but desperately need. Things go exactly like you'd expect them to. [And to think, some people don't believe that God has a sense of humor.]


**Warnings: **_Humor, Crack-ish, Dean and Sam did not sign up for this, neither did Lucifer, but here we are, the road of redemption leads to unexpected places, OoC, God has a sense of humor, Michael has so many doubts, It's hard to say who drew the short stick here, Lucifer or the Winchesters._

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**The Struggles of a Reluctant, Extremely Under-Appreciated, Plain Awesome Guardian Angel**

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**#0**

[_heaven_]

"Y-Your first a-assignment, L-L-Lu-," the angel stutters nervously, unable to bring himself to actually say the Fallen's name.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and rips the thick folder out of the incompetent wusses' hands. You'd think he had returned to Heaven planning to tear its Golden Gate open and burn everything to the ground, not very politely ask to be granted entrance and watch panic, hysteria and confusion break out among his brethren, what with the way every is walking on eggshells around him. He has begun regularly snapping his fingers, just to watch the way everyone in his general vicinity flinches and twitches.

Hey, he's got to get his amusement where he can these days, what with being stuck on the road of redemption and all. No slaughter, no torture, just endless talks about emotions, the value of humanity, bla, bla, bla. If Lucifer has to listen to one more of Raphael's analysis of his psyche, he'll smite something. Like he is the only angel with daddy issues. At least, the rest of the host have the decency to be terrified of him still.

Of course, there's no saying how long that will last, what with him being stuck on guardian angel duty of all things, thanks to daddy dearest. And Cassiel has dared to ask him 'how he could ever rebel against Father's will'.

Lucifer determinedly reigns in his raging anger. Smiting his siblings, no matter how deserved, is not going to get him released from this stupid task any time soon. Besides he's gone through worse. He's already stood in front of his Father and said, word for word, 'I'm sorry for trying to kill off humanity in a fit'. He's _apologized_. Lucifer _doesn't_ apologize.

But no, instead of being granted forgiveness, all that got him was a pat on the head and a '_Nice try, but you know what's really gonna teach you to love these pathetic, sniveling brats? Spending the next hundred years saving their sorry asses!_'

Well, that's not quite how He put it, but the message was pretty damn clear all the same. And it's not fair, damn it.

Castiel rebels — who'd have thought that the little brat had it in him? — and he not only gets resurrected repeatedly but also ends up with a power upgrade on top of it. Lucifer rebels and it gets him kicked out and later stuck on the equivalent of toilet cleaning duty for the foreseeable future. Blatant favoritism, that's what this is.

Still, Lucifer is patient. He's spent eons stuck in a fucking cage, he can handle a hundred years of keeping a couple of humans from dying. And hey, maybe he can at least get a few new devotees and some decent entertainment out of this.

With those encouraging thoughts, Lucifer flips open the file containing his first assignment. And promptly sets the whole thing on fire.

He should have known. He should have fucking—

Lucifer takes a deep breath. Squashes his first response, which is to rain hell fire on Earth. Suppresses his second response, which is to start another war in Heaven. This goes on and on for a few minutes, until finally Lucifer does the only thing he can do that doesn't violate his Terms of Redemption™.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" he screams at the top of his lungs towards the heavens.

Of course there is no response.

* * *

[_elsewhere_]

Michael tilts his head thoughtfully as he watches Lucifer's rage. It does not appear to dissipate any time soon — he is familiar enough with his brother's tendency to cling to perceived slights for centuries, to know that his fury will last for quite some time — but his Father has assured him of his plans, and Michael is loath to question him.

Still.

This is Lucifer they are talking about. And despite everything, Michael does not wish to see his brother fail this task.

"I do not doubt your judgement, Father, but I cannot help but wonder… Do you truly believe this will bring Lucifer back to us?" Michael asks, seeking reassurances that Father so rarely grants.

This time is no exception.

"Yes, absolutely," his Father nods with a certainty that should settle Michael but worries him instead. "That is exactly why I did it."

Michael wants to believe his Father, he truly does. But the giggle fit that comes over his Father a moment after He has spoken those words is not reassuring.

* * *

**#1**

Lucifer appears in the middle of the latest shoddy motel room the Winchesters have bunkered down in with a sign and a mild headache.

He started out doing the polite thing — you know, ringing doorbells, knocking, walking in like he can't bend reality to his will — but all that got him were an arsenal of bullets and knifes to the face, getting drenched in what turned out to be holy fire, and a lot of doors slammed shut in his face. Now, Lucifer is the first to admit that there is a bit of history between him and his new charges, but their paranoia is really quite exhausting. Not to mention painful.

"You know, I'm getting the feeling that I'm not welcome here," he states drily.

Which, predictably, causes the Winchesters to whirl around, already reaching for their mostly useless weapons. His brother's vessel is already cursing up a storm, whilst his own vessel is stealthily reaching for the angel blade under his pillow. Lucifer is a little flattered, knowing that these two have only started to keep their angel weapons so close at hand since he started stopping by regularly.

He's a little insulted that he didn't merit the same acts of caution when he was actively trying to get them to comply with their destiny though. All that effort he put into the apocalypse, and he didn't even get any respect for it. Then he tries to explain to these idiots that he has been charged by God to protect them, and suddenly he's State Enemy Number 1.

"Great," Dean snaps, lighter already in hand. Though what he thinks he will accomplish without holy oil, Lucifer isn't sure about. "So why don't you take the hint and leave us the fuck alone!"

And really, Lucifer wants to say he can't see Michael in his vessel — there is such a jarring disconnect between Michael's highly-upheld respect for Father and everything He created and Dean's irreverence towards everything — but truth is, Lucifer can see it. Sorta. He can also see why Dean threw all of Heaven for a loop during the good, old end of days time though.

"Aww, you're hurting my feelings, Dean." Lucifer pouts, but decides to get down to business because he's really getting tired of tracking the dream team down again and again. Castiel has been absolutely no help whatsoever. Unfortunately, being distracted by his brother's vessel means that Lucifer misses Sam slicing his own palm with the angel sword — and really, what is it with Winchesters' and their readiness the bleed all the time — and painting an all-too familiar symbol on the nearest wall.

"And, as I've been trying to tell you for two weeks now, I'm your new—" Lucifer gets rudely interrupted by yet another banishing sigil, curtesy of his very own vessel.

Rematerializing in the middle of nowhere, somewhere near Tokio — which, by the way, hurts like fucking hell, Sam is lucky Lucifer is so fond of him — Lucifer closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Reminds himself that blowing up a couple of million humans is not going to help his case. Reminds himself that it will take the two vessels some time to realize that he's not trying to hurt them and sooner or later they'll be curious enough to let him get more than a couple of witty remarks in.

But it's hard. _Damn_, is it hard.

Really, nobody appreciates the effort it takes Lucifer not to strike down every living human within easy reach at all times of the day. Sometimes it would be nice to be appreciated for everything he does and doesn't do.

By the time Lucifer is able to approach the motel again, there is no sign of the Winchester brothers' anywhere. Lucifer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs the mother of all Exasperated-With-The-Winchesters'™ sighs.

It doesn't help.

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**#4**

Accompanying his charges on their various hunts, whilst inconvenient and time-consuming, does provide Lucifer with a surprising amount of entertainment. Sure, he has to step in all the time — and really, who did his and Michael's vessel survive long enough to be of use to them, if nothing else that should have been Heaven's first clue that their Father is unhealthily obsessed with them — but he gets to kill things, which is a definite improvement to his usual state of hanging around and looking pretty.

That being said, Sam and Dean never quite stop to confound him.

"Why are you running circles in this cellar?" Lucifer asks curiously, having long since learnt that he will be resolutely ignored if he does not draw attention to himself. Apparently the charm of his presence does wear off after a while, who would've thought? Looking around the dinky room, he wrinkles his nose. "The decor alone is atrocious."

"Fuck off, Satan!" is Dean's expected, but nevertheless vehement reply. Lucifer feels obligated to admire his brother's vessel's tenacity, exasperating though it may be.

His own vessel is thankfully much more forthcoming.

"Trying to find them damn bones before the ghost—" Sam pants, before he is rudely interrupted mid-jog by the simmering appearance of a temperamental man in his late forties.

He's the kind of mortal Lucifer can get behind — the dead kind — but despite what his charges seem to think, he does take his job as their protective detail seriously. And he really, really doesn't like other creatures touching _his_ vessel.

So Lucifer decides to be gracious. Instead of waiting for his charges to either beg for help or — admittedly more likely — almost die, he snaps his fingers and solves the problem in the easiest, most obvious way: by salting and burning the entire offending house out of existence.

He's even considerate enough to get Sam and Dean out of there before he tears the whole place down, but does he get a thank you? Of course not.

Instead, they both gape at the remains like common, mindless humans, before Michael's vessel turns to give Lucifer the most judgmental look he has received in at least a few centuries, and says drily: "You know, you could've just told us where the bones are, right?"

Lucifer graciously keeps himself from smiting the ungrateful, little shit and instead flies away, leaving them to sort out the issues with the approaching firemen and law-enforcement. See if he helps them out again.

_Nothing like Michael, his ass_.

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**#16**

"What if we call Lucifer?" Sam whispers after a moment of hesitation.

Their case — the one that was supposed to be easy and simple and just take their mind of things for a while — had turned out to be anything but. Actually, it had turned out to be not even their kind of case. Just a bunch of wannabe-Satanists in serious need of some therapy and life-long jail-sentences, not necessarily in that order.

"Have you lost your mind?" Dean hisses back furiously. From the way he's straining against the bindings, it's clear that he doesn't have any more success in freeing himself than his brother. "These guys fucking _worship_ him. Besides what are we supposed to do, just yell 'yo, Lucifer, are you busy cause we're a little tied up and would appreciate it if you could get us out of here without murdering everyone' at the ceiling?"

"_Awww_." Lucifer pouts, genuinely disappointed, from where he's popped into existence right next to the elder Winchester. "You always take all the fun out of it, Dean."

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**#22**

Lucifer stares down at the ring of burning holy fire in disbelief. You'd think he'd learn from his mistakes and stop assuming that no one on Earth has access to the cursed liquid, but no, somehow he just keeps getting stuck these fucking things.

To add insult to injury, it's not even a trap that was meant for him.

The Devil himself doesn't just get accidentally stuck in traps meant for some lowly foot soldier, damn it! Especially not when one of his charges has finally prayed to him. Not so much to beg for help as to demand for Lucifer to get his '_feathery butt down here right the fuck now and put an end to this freak show_', but these are the Winchesters he's dealing with. More importantly, they are the vessels, and Lucifer is willing to let more things slide with them than is perhaps advisable.

The same can't be said for his expendable demon minions. Especially not one stupid or dangerous enough to trap him in holy fire.

Lucifer glares at the back of the offending creature. He's just waiting for it to turn around now, to realize what exactly it has caught in its grasp, but so far the demon has been too distracted with taunting his brother's vessel to pay him any mind.

"You really should've stayed under whatever rock you've been hiding under, Meg," Dean spits, apparently incapable of comprehending why antagonizing a demon whilst your on-duty guardian angel is out-of-commission is a bad idea.

The demon — Meg, although it does not appear to like that name — cackles gleefully. Lucifer likes to think he does a much better job of sounding menacingly amused without crossing over into down-right ridiculous.

"Calling your angelic help-desk, Deano?" Meg sneers, still not bothering to take a look over its shoulder. "Did you really think I wouldn't be prepared? That one pathetic, little wing-boy with a silly crush on you would be able to stop me?"

Lucifer stills. The cold that always, always burns within his very grace, is frozen in place, even as rage clouds his thinking, drowns out every sound, every thought.

_Oh. No. She. Didn't._

This pathetic, _insignificant_ creature that he created _dares_. It dares to mock him. To insult him. To insinuate that his intentions are anything but the continued existence of the two vessels that belong to him and Michael and nobody else. It _dares_—

* * *

"Dean, why did the authorities just discover a huge crater in the middle of that town you insisted we had to leave immediately?"

Dean awkwardly rubs his neck.

"See, it's a funny story… Remember Meg?"

Sam squint suspiciously at his brother. "Yes?"

"Yeah, she really seemed to rub Lucifer the wrong way."

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**#37**

Lucifer tilts his head sideways, waiting for his vessel to notice him. His vessel, who's attention unfortunately rests on the black-haired, dark-eyed woman currently smiling invitingly up at him. Sam gestures towards the bar, and Lucifer doesn't need his enhanced hearing to know that he is asking to buy the woman a drink.

Lucifer sighs.

He takes a moment to appreciate this creature's beauty, one out of the seemingly infinite creations of his Father, before he snaps his fingers and disintegrates her, since apparently beheading a woman in public is frowned upon. Humans, honestly. You just can't please them.

Sam jerks around. His expression immediately darkens upon finally noticing Lucifer's presence. The things he puts up with for his vessel's sake.

"Oh, come on!" Sam snaps, annoyed. Lucifer supposes it's progress from the initial lectures about killing random people who piss him off. "What was it _this time_?"

"A qarinah, a type of succubus that originated in Ancient Egypt," Lucifer replies with a shrug, seeing no reason to evade the question. His vessel would do well to learn some caution, it's not like Lucifer can be around twenty-four-seven.

Sam stares at him for a long moment with a cross between a bitch- and a thinking-face. Eventually he turns around and downs his beer in a couple of long gulps. "You're serious, aren't you?" he asks once he comes up for air again.

Lucifer leans against the bar next to his vessel and orders himself a glass of whiskey.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you have terrible taste in women," he answers honestly.

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**#42**

Sam looks up from where he is once more tied to a chair in a basement. After a while, these things all start to look the same.

"Do you- hear that?" he asks hesitantly after a moment.

Dean blinks dazedly at him where he's imitating a crumbled sack of bones on the floor. He's probably got a concussion. Again.

"Is that... the _Barbie Girl song_?" his brother asks incredulously after a moment, and yeah, apparently that isn't Sam's imagination acting up. Even knowing that they're about to be rescued suddenly isn't as comforting as it could have been.

The glare he sends Sam next would have frozen any monster in its tracks. "I _told you_ not to introduce him to YouTube."

"Yeah, well which one of us told him to not let the lack of bloodshed bother him and just get more creative with his torture methods?" Sam snipes back, even though he's feeling a hell-of-a-lot of regret right about now.

The music is steadily becoming louder as Lucifer undoubtedly approaches.

"...just kill me now," Dean mutters unenthusiastically into the ground. Sam can't help but agree with him.

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**#Off-duty, day 2**

"It's not that I don't understand the need to keep watch over mine and Michael's vessel," Lucifer rants, "but how can Father expect me to do my job under all these ridiculous restrictions? It's not like I can just call all demons off their blood, you know? They're Winchesters, they're hunted no matter what I say!"

His audience, sadly, is none too sympathetic to his plight. Not that it keeps Lucifer from continuing his complaints, of course not.

"It's always '_No, Lucifer, you can't smite the whole FBI for hunting us, what is wrong with you?!_'" Lucifer whines exaggeratedly in a scarily good imitation of a certain younger Winchester. "Or '_No, Lucifer, you are not torturing those guys for stealing our car, Dean, stop encouraging him!_' or '_No, Lucifer, there's a perfectly good version of this plan where nobody dies!_' Like geez, who do they take me for, Oprah?"

With a scoff, Lucifer turns to face the demon he has strung up with his favorite set of chains. It's only the latest in a long line of demons that have committed one slight or another against his charges in the past. Gently Lucifer slides his thumb over the knife in his hand to test its sharpness. He has plans for this demon after all, and it wouldn't do to misjudge the amount of force he needs to apply.

"I'm telling you," Lucifer continues, unfazed by the demon's terrified whimper, "I get how they got Michael to lose his unshakeable cool so fast. These people are impossible to protect."

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**Reviews are free and much appreciated :)**


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